


A Study in Peer Review

by SilverMiko



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Meeting Online AU, Romance, Science, Sherlock is entirely a bit not good, Sherlolly - Freeform, don't feed the trolls, the pitfalls and perils of peer review
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-24
Packaged: 2019-01-22 06:53:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12475876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverMiko/pseuds/SilverMiko
Summary: Sherlock Holmes is used to a few comments here and there on his blog, The Science of Deduction, mostly potential clients. And then one night he gets a comment correcting one of the poisoning methods on a post. Instead of accepting con crit from the annoyingly helpful MHoops, Sherlock decides to fulfill his boredom between cases by engaging in an ongoing flame war with the supposed medical professional. It's one way for sparks to fly.





	A Study in Peer Review

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dreamin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamin/gifts).



> Shipping AU prompt for Dreamin, "meeting online au". In which I came to the deduction that Sherlock would probably be a bit of a tosser online when left unchecked.  
> Enjoy!

It wasn’t that _The Science of Deduction_ was unpopular or disliked, Sherlock Holmes had gotten quite a few cases (some even above a six) off the blog, but even he could admit the engagement on it wasn’t exactly hopping monthly. How could the uneducated masses not care about something as fascinating as different types of ash? Way more interesting than Daily Fail gossip or whatever sentient creature was living on Boris Johnson’s head at any given day. Suffice to say, he didn’t get a lot of comments that weren’t case related.

But there was a first time for everything, and one late April night over fish and chips with his flatmate, Dr. John Watson, his phone email alert pinged with notification of a new blog comment on the post “Pick Your Poison”. It was a post from months earlier, one no one had bother commented on until now. To say he was a bit chuffed to get a response was an understatement.

“What’s that smirk for? Is there a case on?”

“Nope, new blog comment. Not a case.”

“Christ, someone reads that thing for anything else?”

Sherlock paused to look up as his phone loaded the blog post, shooting John a scowl.

“Not everyone likes all that action and overblown narrative you cram into your posts.”

“Really, tell that to Google Analytics,” John teased, shoving a chip in his mouth as Sherlock ignored him to read the comment left by one MHoops.

Strange username, then again he signed off as SH so it wasn’t like he could talk. If people wanted his real name, they could bloody email. In John’s posts he was simply SH or Holmes, never his full name. His brother preferred it that way and if anyone was aggressive when it came to NDAs, it was Mycroft.

The post finally loaded and with a surprising surge of anticipation, Sherlock scrolled down to read. And read. And his smirk soon dissolved to a frown to the point that even John noticed.

“Problem, mate?”

“Who in the bloody hell does this ‘MHoops’ think he is? Look at this!”

Sherlock shoved the phone into John’s face and waited for his friend to read the message.

 

**MHoops**

**_Hi there, great post! Just one correction: I think you mixed up potassium poisoning and belladonna/deadly nightshade poisoning. Cheers! :)_ **

 

John looked at the screen, at Sherlock’s frowning face, then back at the screen again.

“Well, did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Mix up the two like he says.”

“Of course not! I’m sure of it,” Sherlock huffed, taking his phone back and tapping mercilessly on the keypad to reply.

“I mean I could read the post to double check for you.”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“Afraid you’ll be wrong?” John prodded, waving a chip towards Sherlock.

“Afraid your lack of practical experience will pollute the debate. Anyways, you should probably lay off the rest of the chips. Won’t keep impressing your Mary with half stone you’ve gained.”

“Mary doesn’t track my weight fluctuations as keenly as you do, thanks,” John said tersely, dropping his chip and shoving the basket away. “So how you going to reply?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be the utmost professional as always.”

Sherlock watched John roll his eyes and sigh, then went back to typing.

 

**SH**

**_Thank you for enjoying the post, however I assure you the information herein is correct. I am a graduate chemist after all. What are your qualifications?_ **

 

He pocketed his phone and went back to his dinner, noticing with some glee John had let up on the chips. Good, Sherlock was famished and tired of John always stealing all the food. It wasn’t until much later, near 3am, that his phone chirped with an email notifying him of a follow up comment.

 

**MHoops**

**_My medical degree?? I happen to be a Specialist Registrar, thanks. Anyway, just making sure you have the correct info there. Each poison affects different organs, not that I’m trying to enable potential murderers or anything! Well, cheers. :)_ **

 

A doctor, then? Damn, they were such no-it-alls and as the king know-it-all, Sherlock Holmes did not like being shown up at all, not one darn bit! And so it came to pass as the gap between an actually interesting case grew wide and large, that he began alleviating his boredom with the age old intoxicating addiction of engaging in discourse on the Internet.

 

**SH**

**_Specialist in what? Being the blog police? If you’re a doctor don’t you have better use of your time than being this pedantic about poison types?_ **

 

**MHoops**

**_Forensic pathology, actually. So I like to think I know my poisons pretty well. And pedantic? Really? This coming from a blogger who posts about over 200 types of ash?? Honestly, I wasn’t trying to offend you, just trying to help._ **

 

*******

 

Molly re-read the prickly SH’s last reply and huffed at her computer screen.

“Really? Can’t this guy just say thanks and be done with it?” she mumbled.

“Problem?” her boss, Mike, asked from his spot next to her in the lab.

“You know that blog you told me about about the bloke who talks about science and crimes and has the weird fixation on cataloguing ash?”

“Yes, what about it?”

“Well I checked it out since you thought I’d like it and I mean, he knows his stuff but he got some poison descriptions wrong and so I left him a comment, right? Trying to be helpful and all.”

She watched Mike wince and sigh.

“Let me guess, he didn’t take that well.”

“Definitely not! He’s kind of rude, honestly, and can’t just accept he’s wrong and I’m right. Like ‘oh I’m a graduate chemist!’ as if that’s some big deal. I even mentioned I was a medical professional and he’s still being...he’s being…”

“A bit of a prick?”

“Exactly! You actually know this guy? Like in person?”

“Oh yea, he’s helped me out a few times. He’s not all bad, runs a bit mad at times. Definitely stands out though with the mop of curls on his head. Surprised you’ve never crossed paths, he used to come in here a lot when Dr. Todd was here before she moved north and switched to surgery.”

“Nope, I’m sure I’d recognize the horns on his head though if I saw them.”

“Molly, he really isn’t _that_ bad.”

She rolled her eyes and clucked her tongue.

“He called me pedantic, Mike. All because he can’t take constructive criticism.”

“Well what is it the kids these days say? Don’t feed the trolls and all. Besides, didn’t I assign you at least four files of paperwork this morning?”

She held up her paper cup full of room temperature coffee.

“Elevensies.”

“Ah. Well, try not to get too bothered. Got a busy day ahead. DI Lestrade has two bodies coming in later.”

“Ah good! Haven’t caught up with Greg in ages! I mean, not good for the dead people and all…”

Mike gave Molly a sympathetic look.

“You know, with that morbid sense of humor you two would actually get along.”

“Me and Greg? We do get along.”

“No I meant you and him,” Mike said, gesturing to her computer screen.

Molly scrunched up her face, taking a sip of her rapidly cooling coffee.

“Not even if he was the fittest man in London.”

Mike shook his head, mumbling about going to the vending machine for some Hoops and Molly turned her attention back to the screen as a reply came through.

 

**SH**

**_I think I’ll stick to taking my advice from doctors who actually save lives, thanks._ **

 

What little coffee was left in her cup faced a perilous doom as her fist clenched around the cup hard, crushing it. Realizing her near fatal miss with coffee hands, she set the cup aside and began typing.

**MHoops**

**_Really? Good luck then, you fucking tosser! Hope they know the difference between tachycardia and hyperkalemia since you can’t seem to tell the bloody difference to something affecting the heart and something affecting the kidneys. At the rate you’re going you’ll end up on my table and at least then I’d get paid to put a knife in you. Good day then!_ **

 

If she expected a reply, she was sorely disappointed. Granted, she was a bit out of line. Normally she kept her cool, normally she was in control, a little Miss Perfect even, but something about this guy really set her off. Still, she almost wanted him to reply and was sorely disappointed when days had passed and there was no notice of follow up comments. Maybe he had given up. Well, perhaps it was for the best, she didn’t some asshole online distracting her.

As two weeks passed, she almost forgot about it, only occasionally looking back on it with a detached amusement on her commute into work or when she perused the pathology forums many British doctors frequented to faff about linking to their latest study or journal paper. She herself was guilty of just that, having posted her recent paper on the cutting edge methods of continuing to bridge the gap between medical science and criminal investigations. She’d felt rather good about that one, already earning positive peer reviews from colleagues and a celebratory pizza with Mike, which was as good as a clap on the shoulder and a “well done” as far as she was concerned. Hugs and words were great and all, but carbs and cheese were truly a sign of a job well done.

And so, feeling high on a the wave of praise and accomplishment, it took her a moment to truly contemplate the latest forum comment concerning her paper.

 

**SH**

**_So this is your work, then? A bit pedestrian, isn’t it? You don’t go nearly as granular as you could, or is it a lack of expertise holding this back from digging deeper into using the methodology of deduction when forensic evidence fails to make a conclusion? Stick to medicine, Dr. Hooper, and leave solving crimes to the professionals._ **

 

How?! How had he possibly found her online, let alone her paper? Then again, she’d logged into his blog as MHoops, identified as a pathologist and he was, all thing aside, spectacularly clever. Well then, if he wanted to engage her here of all places.

 

**MHooper**

**_Took you a fortnight to find me online? Not as clever as you seem. I’ll keep your points in mind for consideration. Cheers. :)_ **

 

There was no way he was baiting her in a public comment, but that didn’t stop her from private messaging him. He wanted to bring the fight to her turf? Well then, she was prepared to take it to the mattresses!

 

**MHooper**

**_Look, I don’t know what you’re aiming for but this is a professional forum and I’m not about to get into petty bullshit with an amateur. You find my paper not up to your standards? FINE. But you don’t have the credentials to peer review so unless you have something useful to say, sod off please!_ **

 

**SH**

**_Hit a nerve or are you embarrassed at being publicly outed in comments for subpar work. I can’t IMAGINE what that is like._ **

 

**MHooper**

**_Seriously? GET OVER IT. It’s not my fault you’re a massive twat with the ego the size of the Shard and can’t get your poisons right. I was honestly not trying to pick a fight with you but you just keep on bloody going! Well, I’m done feeding you, troll boy. Have a nice life with your ash and your petty pride!_ **

 

She slammed her laptop closed, feeling momentarily triumphant as she marched into her kitchen and poured herself some gin. She had better things to do than entertain the wounded pride of the fragile male ego, like the upcoming conference Friday night on forensic science that Mike had asked her to attend last minute that had had her thanking Jesus, Mary, and Pret that Topshop had been running a sale on dresses. She’d even braved the hellscape that was Oxford Street on a Saturday for it, so dammit, she was going to look her best and have fun. Besides, it was being held at some posh hotel ballroom that she knew had at least decent liquor and none of the awful well swill other conferences peddled for an obscene amount of quid. There was at least that, and the fact that she blessedly didn’t have to speak at this one. And so it was a plan: doll up, look great, mingle for only as much as necessary, have a few drinkies, and stick to the actually interesting keynotes. That was definitely enough for Bart’s to be represented and her to have things to report back to Mike.

With the rest of the week passing by uneventfully, she sat at her vanity on Friday night applying her makeup, brushed out her long hair until it lay straight and shiny(she’d had it up too much all day to even consider a bun or her normal ponytail), and donned her dress. She’d left Toby extra water and food in case things ran over, and as she got onto the tube heading for Westminster, she was prepared for another wholly academic and otherwise banal night.

And really, it would have been, except for some random publishing house guy named Cleaver making a rude pass at her then the girl next to her at the bar, for one. And then there was the fistfight that’d broken out between two pissed cytopathologists from rival hospitals between the keynote on the prolonged effects of nicotine pollution at crime scenes and the break for cakes and scones in the lobby. Well, at least the carpet had an unfortunately gauche pattern with a lot of red and blue and black to hide the blood. It was certainly shaping up to be one of the weirder ones, and not for the good, until _he_ walked into the room: tall, dressed in a black suit with a deep aubergine shirt that was blessedly one size too small, with a halo of dark hair curling wildly around his ears. Molly wasn’t one prone to cliche, but if anyone screamed Byronic hero it was this bloke. Christ he was _fit_! She watched him scan the crowd for a seat, feeling her face flush when his eyes landed on hers, and she wondered if perhaps this was going to be some movie moment that happened in real life. Their eyes meeting across a room, sparks flying, and by the end of the month she’d be Mrs. Tight Shirt. But it was when he raised an eyebrow and shook his head, looking away, that she realized it wasn’t her sudden captivating beauty that had caught his attention, it was the fact that she had been blatantly staring at him with her mouth just a bit hung open like a gaping fish. A cute fish at least.

She bit her lip, feeling embarrassed and a bit silly. She was here for work, not to pull some random blokes she had zero chance with. And so paid attention, or tried to, on a searingly dull lecture that was yet another token Jack the Ripper topic, and was half tempted to try and engage her online nemesis out of the blue because it was less harmful than taking her eyes out with a dull spoon if she had to listen to another quarter of an hour of trite, regurgitated Ripper lore. The topic, once fascinating to her, got dull fast the more she attended these things and the more it was clear everyone speaking to the matter really had nothing new to say that wasn’t borderline crack fanfiction of real life events. She’d really needed more gin for this.

After a quick visit to the bar and few more near passes with Mr. Tall Dark and Curly, Molly felt her skin grow too warm for comfort, likely from the hotel AC failing, too many people, and the fortifying gin cocktail she’d finished earlier. Luckily, she’d attended enough events by then to know every side door and secret hiding place one could get peace and quiet, and she knew if she made her way to the back corner of the ballroom by spare chairs that there was a door leading to a quiet side street that rarely had any traffic. With her mind on a mission to get some air, she burst through the door and let it slam behind her, taking a deep inhale of air and fanning her face as she moaned yet again to Jesus and Pret.

“Bad conference, is it?”

With a startled gasp, she wheeled around and came face to face with Mr. Snug Trousers himself, leaning against the alley wall taking a drag of a half smoked cigarette. From afar, he looked fit. But now up close and barely a meter from her where she could see those cheekbones and the mercurial color of his light eyes? Definitely, absolutely, and positively this had to be the fittest man she’d ever met.

“Er...a bit, yeah. Just not how I expected the night to go.”

“How did you expect it to go?”

“Oh, well, maybe a bit more thrilling? Aside from the attempted boxing match earlier, anyway. I just don’t know why I always come to these things.”

He looked her up and down a moment, then took another drag of his cigarette.

“For work, clearly. You don’t enjoy these events, from your easily supplied wry commentary, your twice now visits to the bar, and your desperate need to vacate for air in a ballroom that really isn’t that crowded. But you’re ambitious, more so than your colleagues, so you’re here slogging through the usual rote conversations at these things and same rotating topics of discussion. So then, what is it you do?”

Whoever he was, he was sharp to guess all that and it reminded of her something in the back of her head she couldn’t quite piece together in the moment. Realizing she hadn’t replied yet, she shook her head.

“Can we not? I just, it’s always the same, you know? ‘Oh what do you do?’ ‘Oh how interesting, here’s my card!’ and it’d be nice to not be a professional and just a person right now. Sorry, I’m sure that doesn’t make sense.”

He finished his cigarette and stubbed it out, stepping closer to her.

“It does. To be honest, I don’t ever come to these things either but I was looking for someone I guess. Figured he’d be here.”

“Who’s that then?”

“Oh, just someone I got into a disagreement with.”

“Well, that ballroom is full of people who have academically argued with each other for years, that doesn’t narrow it down.”

“Yes well, no work talk, right? The name’s Sherlock,” he said, sticking out his hand. She looked at it for a moment before taking his gloved hand and shaking it.

“Molly, nice to meet you,” she said, suppressing a shiver. Maybe it was some premonition, some sign this was a chance meeting. Or it was the fact that it was bloody freezing and she’d forgotten her coat and her dress, while being a totally cute black number with white around the waist, was also sleeveless. She couldn’t help but fill the awkward silence with rubbing her arms and smiling a bit too widely, trying to pretend she wasn’t cold. But her companion was definitely that perceptive and soon enough he had taken off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

“If we’re going to keep talking, since you’re not actually boring so far, it’d help if you weren’t in danger of chattering your teeth away.”

 _Well, that was oddly charming...and surly_ , she thought.

“Thanks. Anyway, so we’re not going to talk about what we do or work, but I guess it’s okay to talk about the keynotes? How are you liking them?”

“I’ve had punches in the face less painful than sitting through some of these. Oh, let’s talk about Jack the Ripper again as if there’s some new nugget of info surely we can glean! Besides, everyone always focuses on the wrong thing anyway and gets fixation on royal conspiracy or butchers.”

“Oh please, if I hear one more word about the guy I might start praying he comes and gets me just so I don’t have to sit through one more word about it.”

“Eh, you’re a bit too high brow for his tastes. And by modern standards that dress, while fetching, isn’t the sort to indicate you’re the type he’d go after.”

“Well that’s one way to say I don’t look like a whore.”

He blinked then, and she found she enjoyed him being the flustered one. In the scant ten minutes they’d been in each other’s company, she had been sure she was making an idiot of herself but he seemed oddly charmed by her.

“No of course not! You look nice, definitely not a tart.”

“Well thanks for telling me I’m pretty, Sherlock,” she said with a grin, hugging his jacket closer around her shoulders. It smelled nice, like sandalwood and spice and whatever magical concoction of chemicals and esters that made posh boys smell bloody delicious. “Want to grab another drink before popping into ‘The Microscope is Mightier Than the Sword’? If we sit together, we can keep each other entertained,” she suggested, hoping he’d say yes.

He shrugged, giving her a slight smile.

“Why not? Since my plans otherwise fell through. At least we can be hostages together.”

She laughed and led him back inside, where two whisky smashes later they were sitting in the final keynote together looking as if they were paying total attention while scribbling colorful commentary back and forth about the lecture. It took everything in her willpower not to burst out laughing when her companion had written that he was starting to suspect the speaker might actually be so in love with his microscope he had intimate relations with it. Finally, when it was mercifully over, she was completely prepared to cut her losses, chalk it all as a one-time stroke of luck, and likely never see Sherlock again. But then he suggested she pop by for a nightcap. And soon they were in a cab heading towards Marylebone and pulling up in front of a flat on Baker Street. She followed him up a short set of stairs, him shushing her every three steps as she giggled because he didn’t want his landlord to hear them, and into a flat that was best described as organized chaos.

As he took both their coats and hung them up, mumbling something about having a bottle of wine and surely at least two clean glasses, she mustered up her courage, grabbed him by the front of his shirt, and proceeded to snog him senseless. It seemed to take him aback for a moment, and oh God maybe he really just had meant having a drink as a nightcap and not the sexy kind…

But then he was kissing her back, and soon they were shuffling down the hallway past his kitchen as they awkwardly navigated around pieces of clothing falling to the floor until finally they were in the bedroom and Molly got a firsthand view of just how entirely fit Sherlock was. And how completely clever he was in the bedroom. It was as if he was studying her every reaction and calibrating his actions as a result. Well, she certainly wasn’t going to complain about him taking a methodical approach, especially when it turned out to be entirely pleasurable for them both at least three times that night.

She dozed off somewhere around one am, completely content and feeling like she’d won some lottery when a short time later the soft glow of light coming from his phone screen woke her up. Sherlock sat up a bit next to her, typing away at his phone.

“You’re not updating your Facebook status all chuffed you pulled are you? Just don’t name names, then.”

“Sorry, just replying to someone from a few weeks ago. Just popped into my head.”

“Well, I guess that makes me more muse than sex goddess, but I’ll take it,” she mumbled with a laugh, burying her face into the pillow and ready to go back to sleep. When _her_ phone pinged.

“Geez, sorry, forgot to put it on ‘do not disturb’,” she mumbled sleepily, turning over and grabbing her phone, blinking for a long moment as it took her sleep-addled eyes time to adjust and process the email notification flashing on her screen. Scrunching her brow, she unlocked her phone and opened the link to the forum. And read.

**SH**

**_My ego? Seems like yours is feeling quite bruised. Oh well, you’re not even interesting enough for some of the most boring people on earth to invite you to speak on subjects you supposed excel at. I’ll take my ash over continuing to talk to you anyway. Laters._ **

 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” she growled, sitting up suddenly and typing out an angry reply, all pretense of keeping her cool long gone. She had gone out to try and have somewhat of a decent night and honestly? She felt so attacked right now by this complete jackass who couldn’t bother for weeks and now, of all times, chooses to strike when she was enjoying quite the afterglow of a fantastic series of shags.

“Everything okay?” he asked, glancing over at her.

“It’s fine, just some random person online I’ve been arguing with for a bit other nothing really. Hopefully this shuts him up,” she said with a smirk, hitting send.

 

**MHooper**

**Sorry, where am I supposed to be speaking? Oh wait, I DON’T CARE.** **_I’m sure your ash is the only thing keeping you warm at night which speaking of, I have better things to do in bed than keep replying to you. Hope you choke on your precious soot. Cheers.xx_ **

 

Feeling satisfied with her answer, she tossed her phone back on the nightstand only to then hear Sherlock’s phone chirp with an alert. He looked at his screen, frowning at whatever it was he read and mumbling something inaudible in an annoyed tone, and then a moment later he was looking at her, then back at his phone, then back at her.

“Molly...what’s your last name?”

“Hooper, why?”

“Molly Hooper,” he said, groaning and flopping onto his back, “There’s always something.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, looking down at him with concern. What was the big deal about her name and why did he look like someone had kicked a dog. Instead of replying, he held his phone up and showed her the screen, where the reply she’d just sent was staring back at her.

“Wait what? What is...how do you?”

“Sherlock Holmes,” he said, setting his phone aside and sitting up again, “It’ll make sense in a moment, I’ll wait.”

She bit her lip as the facts and thoughts formed together like an awful puzzle in her mind, taking shape.

“Sherlock Holmes. SH...oh. Oh! Oooooooooooh!” she said, scooting away from him and pulling the sheets up higher on her chest to protect her modesty.

“A little late for that now, don’t you think,considering I had you making close to that exact noise less than ninety minutes ago.”

“Did you seriously time it? Every time?”

“Yes? Does it matter?”

“I just….it’s you! This whole time it was you! Oh god, this isn’t like some psychotic catfishing or single white male thing is it? Did you know it was me this whole time?”

“Of course not! You think I’d sleep with you if I knew you were MHoops?”

“But you did come tonight looking for me, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes but I didn’t know and didn’t expect you to be...to be…”

“A woman?” she asked, crossing her arms and giving him very much a look, the look all men, no matter what level of experience with women, just _knew_.

“That you’d be you.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” she asked with a huff, tugging more of the sheets and comforter around her in defensive measures.

“That you were capable of not being an annoying stickler 24/7 who can’t mind their own business! That you’re actually tolerable company, though let’s face it the liquor probably helped there.”

She felt her jaw work for a moment as she tampered down every urge screaming to slap his smug, gorgeous face.

“Can’t imagine why I thought for a second you were remotely human. Glad you’ve just proven how much of a massive arsehole you actually are before I was fooled into to thinking you were actually a decent bloke.”

“Being decent really isn’t my area.”

“No shit, Sherlock!” she yelled, trying to impossibly cocoon herself more into the bedding to the point it nearly sent him tumbling naked off the bed.

“Stop that!” he yelped, tugging back on the bedding and inadvertently pulling her along with it so that she accidentally fell half on top of him. She avoided looking at him, but neither exactly moved to pull away from each other. A moment later she reached up with both hands to pat him atop the head, as if feeling for something.

“What are you doing?” he asked, confused.

“Looking for the horns,” she replied matter-of-factly, finally looking him in the face.

His piercing eyes stared back at hers so sharply that it almost took her breath away. Why, of all things, did the universe have such a sick sense of humor? She finally meets a smart, fit bloke, they get along, only to find out they’re arch nemeses on the Internet. Talk about cliche.

“I may be many things, but I’m not Satan.”

“Well you’re a sore loser, that’s for sure. And since we’re here anyway and the universe is so perverse, might as well take advantage,” she mumbled, leaning in until their faces were a bare few centimeters apart. “Sherlock, it’s really simple. Potassium, kidneys. Belladonna, heart. Got that now?”

She moved hand down to his face to pat his cheek in what she knew was an openly patronizing manner. She expected him to perhaps pout, perhaps give some petty, snappy reply. She did not expect him to snap his hand up and grasp her wrist before turning them over so that he pressed atop of her.

“Molly,” he growled into her ear and lord help her, she really really _really_ liked it. Even if he was the extremely annoying SH, but he was also pretty fun to hang out with that night, and he wasn’t all terrible, and he was ridiculously fucking fit, and really really clever...especially with his mouth in more than one way.

“I’m just saying….”

And then he kissed her, effectively shutting her up and while it was unclear who had actually won that round, Molly figured it was safe to say they both did. She felt his hands move the bedding between them.

“Wait, we’re doing this again?”

“Yesss?” he asked, confused, pausing for a moment to look her in the face.

“But I thought...you and I being like enemies and all…”

“Enemies is a bit much, don’t you think?”

“Sherlock you’ve literally been telling me multiple times how little I matter, how boring I am, and how I’m supposedly unqualified to speak to subjects I _literally_ went to school for and have dealt with hands on. I literally told you to choke on your precious ash and pretty sure I called you a twat in the process. I wouldn’t exactly say that makes us friends.”

“No definitely not,” he replied, appearing to agree and sighing, before he continued his ministrations. “We’ll just have to be lovers then, I suppose.”

“Lovers? Are you serious? Sherlock!” she moaned, feeling his lips press against her neck in those wonderful little nibbles he’d discovered she liked earlier in the evening.

“Well, my ash certainly isn’t going to keep me warm at night, so you’ll have to make do.”

“Wow, you really know how to charm a girl,” she tried to deadpan, but couldn’t help her yelps of pleasure as he kissed his way down to her collarbone then paused to look up at her.

“Molly Hooper, you are definitely and somewhat annoyingly smart, near my level in many ways, definitely enough to keep up arguing with me longer than most could. You are just as stubborn as me in debate, which now with added context I find I fancy just a bit. You’re also not boring, and when it’s not directed at me your sharp commentary is fairly entertaining, you can hold your gin and still make several good quips, and you are, objectively speaking, an attractive woman that I enjoyed spending time with tonight, even knowing now you’re who I’ve been arguing with anonymously. Definitely, I’d say, better than a pile of soot, as you put it.”

She blinked at him, feeling her cheeks warm.

“Something tells me that’s about as sentimental as you get, right?”

“Pretty much. Problem?”

She shrugged, “I can live with it.”

“Helps that I’m so fit, right?”

“And clever too when you aren’t blatantly wrong, don’t sell yourself too short there, Holmes,” she said with a grin and pulled him closer, kissing him soundly.

“I’m not wro…, he began to protest then sighed, “truce?”

She smiled, pressing another kiss to his lips. “For now.”

And then they returned to the matters at hand.

 

***

 

_Six Months Later_

 

Molly was still asleep in bed as Sherlock sat at his laptop, staring at the screen. She’d moved into Baker Street a month earlier, and somehow they managed to coexist and not, in fact, kill each other yet. It helped that now she had a permanent date to get her through more conferences without her trying to claw her face off with spoons in boredom, so killing him wasn’t to her advantage. It helped in her favor that as a pathologist she could let him use her lab for experiments and bring home the odd body part. The fact that they were also very much in love didn’t hurt either.

So he could do this, he would do it and no one would ever know. It’s not like he ever got that much traffic on old posts anyway. Putting a leash on his pride, he made the necessary edits, hit save, then shut the computer with a wary sigh, deciding he needed tea badly to steady himself.

He had barely gotten his first sip when he heard, clear as day from the bedroom, a victorious yelp.

“I FUCKING TOLD YOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU.”

He looked at his tea and sighed. Of course she checked that bloody post every morning to see if he’d edited the entry. He really shouldn’t expect anything less from the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. Speaking of. He fished his phone out of his pocket and typed.

**SH**

**_Before you keep cackling like a manic hyena as you gloat, one question: will you marry me?_ **

 

There was a long moment, no reply from the bedroom. And then his phone pinged.

**MHoops**

**_Yea, sure. Might as well. Someone needs to fact check this blog and actually comment here and keep you in line. Bring me a cuppa?xx_ **

 

He smiled, pouring a second cup and heading back to the bedroom when his phone pinged again.

**J WATSON**

**_CAN’T YOU TWO EVER DO THIS STUFF NORMALLY?_ **

 

**J WATSON**

**_PS: Mary says she has dibs on maid on honor and to call her._ **

 


End file.
